


Backup

by WhiteLadyoftheRing



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24629779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyoftheRing/pseuds/WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: Jack is a terrible spy, by Peggy's standards.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa/Jack Thompson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55
Collections: SSR Confidential 2020





	Backup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glorious_spoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/gifts).



**Backup**

After everything, Jack knows three things to be true:

One. Peggy Carter is going to be the death of him.

Two. He can never let Daniel know that the sweater vests are so endearing.

And three. If granted the opportunity, he would put himself in harm’s way to protect them.

That is, if he lives to do it again.

Everything hurts; his left arm is likely broken, and he can’t tell if it’s the old gunshot wound to the chest acting up or if he’s managed to break every rib he’s got, but breathing alone is a laborious task. His left eye is swollen shut, and his right isn’t much better. It’s difficult to make out his surroundings - the lights too sharp, everything else too dull - and he isn’t sure how much time has passed.

_ “Looks like he’s coming around.” _

The words sound very far away, like he’s underwater listening to a conversation on the surface, even as he’s sure their source must be close by. The light shifts, a figure passing in front of him.

_ “Let’s get him out of here,” _ another voice. A woman. Marge?  _ “Martinez and Shaw can clean up Rikeman and his thugs. They’ve got backup en route.” _

It’s her; her perfume unmistakable after these past years. And then she’s there, kneeling in front of him, one hand on his knee and the other on his face. It stings, but he leans his cheek into her palm. The pressure on his chest eases as his hands are unbound, and he can slump forward fully, Marge catching him by the shoulders. A rustling, and there’s something warm wrapped around him. It only takes a second before he recognizes it as Daniel’s tweed jacket.

“Jack?” Daniel’s voice sounds closer now, more recognizable. Jack tries again to focus his vision, and finally he sees them - Peggy kneeling in front of him, holding his weight, and Daniel at her side, his crutch abandoned a few paces away. Their faces are lined in equal parts with relief and concern.

Jack’s mouth is dry, cottony, and his lips and tongue are slow and clumsy. “Took you two long enough,” he manages.

Peggy rolls her eyes a bit. (It took him some time, but eventually he realized that her exasperation toward him was really just camouflage and deflection for her affection, most of the time anyways.) “Where are you hurt?” she asks, more earnestly taking inventory of his injuries. She touches his swollen eye, and instantly recoils when he hisses in pain. “Can you walk? We’ve got Rikeman in custody, but who knows what sort of explosives he’s left lying around.”

Right. Explosives. Charging into a seemingly abandoned warehouse - alone - to track down illegal arms dealers with connections to Leviathan was maybe not the best idea he’s ever had.

“Yeah,” he says as he stumbles to his feet. “I can walk.” His balance is off, and Peggy is quick to catch him under the arms.

“And you say Peg’s nothing but trouble.”

\--

Later, after debriefs and nearly an hour being poked and prodded by the medical team, Jack reclines on the couch, trying his best to get comfortable despite the three cracked ribs and the fracture to his face. The smell of pasta and sauce wafts in from the kitchen, a recipe from Daniel’s grandmother that is so secret that he and Peggy are still forbidden from learning.

Peggy perches on the edge of the couch beside him and delicately applies a fresh ice pack to the swollen side of his face. He winces as the ice pack makes contact with his skin. When he’d caught a look at it in the mirror earlier, it was already blooming from pink and red to an impressive shade of purple. “You keep coming home with us to lick your wounds, and one of these days someone’s going to get ideas about what’s going on here.”

“You callin’ me a bad spy, Marge?” he teases back. He’s almost certain a half dozen of their co-workers have a pretty good guess as to the nature of their relationship as it is. They’ve always been careful to be discreet - avoiding riding to or from work in the same car, socializing with officemates separately, avoiding outright favoritism as much as possible - but they work with a bunch of spies. And if at least someone hasn’t seen him and Daniel sitting a little too close together, or the fond way he squabbles with Marge … well, then they’re idiots.

(The USAAF invented swinging back in the war, and while Jack is a Navy boy through and through, he’s been more than happy enough to squash rumors of anything untoward by implying something that was already considered more or less acceptable by their peers.)

“Terrible,” she agrees. “Good spies rarely put themselves in situations where they’ll be knocked out and held captive, leaving their partners to worry at home.”

He grins at that - almost, because even that much hurts. Funny, coming from Peggy Carter, the most reckless spy he’s ever had the frustration of employing. “Next time I’ll call for backup. Probably.”

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Daniel says, leaning against the door jamb. “If you think you can manage it.” He’s half undressed - no sweater vest, and his shirt is unbuttoned, hanging loose. It’s distracting.

“Yeah, dinner’s good.”

Daniel tarries a bit, still hovering in the doorway to the kitchen. He looks like he has something to say, but is debating whether or not it’s a good idea. (A notion Jack is only half-familiar with; he’s rarely concerned himself with whether something he says might hurt someone else, only if it might hurt his own ambition. Daniel is decidedly a better person than Jack will ever be.)

“Spit it out, Sousa. You stand there all night and the food’s gonna burn.”

“Okay,” Daniel says with a sigh. “You’re an idiot.”

_ Touche. _

“Being a self-destructive jackass isn’t going to make up for the things you’ve done, so please stop doing it.” Okinawa. Blackmailing Peggy. “Don’t you think you’re already suffering enough? That you’ve been forgiven?”

He thinks of those weeks in LA, after he’d been shot. Peggy and Daniel sitting vigil by his hospital bed. The days in recovery, staying in Daniel’s spare room. The night terrors and flashbacks, high on medication and unable to discern reality from nightmare. Daniel’s arms around him, holding firm, grounding him. Peggy’s fingers tangled in his hair. 

Daniel doesn’t say anything more, only moves over to crowd the couch with them. He kisses Jack squarely on the mouth, which hurts, but Jack won’t push him away. Not now.

“Please stop being an idiot,” he says, and beside him Peggy nods in agreement.

“Okay,” Jack replies.


End file.
